Better Left Unanswered
by SMS13
Summary: Carter-enriched story. It's really a good read. Please read! I know you will like it.


~*~ Better Left Unanswered ~*~  
  
AUTHOR: Sylvia  
  
EMAIL: ellaspyrka@yahoo.com  
  
RATING: G  
  
SPOILERS: S-10, "Now What?" But nothing too major. Just the fact that Carter left Abby.   
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue. No money  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please, please, please review. It only takes a second or two and it really makes me happy!!   
  
He watched her gentle breathing through the moonlight. She always insisted on keeping the windows open to the gorgeous view of the courtyard and lake. She had always said how it looked straight out of a fairy tale, but to him it was normal. He approached everything nonchalantly now. The signs of age and wisdom etching themselves onto his face, his manner gentle and understanding, like a new person. He continued to watch her sleeping, gently moving the few strands of dark brown hair away from her face. Her full, rich hair had slowly began to turn grey, the wrinkles on her face showing up more clearly, the dark circles under her eyes standing out against her fair olive colored skin. She somehow still managed to hold that magnetic beauty that had always drawn him to her. She was growing older, but it gracefully and slowly approached her. And she was still beautiful to him. Realizing sleep would not shed itself to him tonight, he picked himself off the warm and soft bed, finding his slippers, and putting on his robe. He exited the master bedroom, walking down the halls. He had kept the mansion that he had inherited. He could not bring himself to sell it, it held too many memories that other people would not be able to understand. He could hear the echo of his footsteps along the floor, it sounded like a boulder coming down. The carpet had been taken off, soon to be replaced. The hallway stretched a few yards, many doors leading to bathrooms and washrooms and closets and bedrooms.   
  
He reached one of the first doors, and entered it. It had been a few month since anyone had been in there, and the air was heavy with age and dust. He looked around the room, the pennants on the walls, the diplomas and awards. John Truman Carter the Fourth. He had to pass on the name, the heir to the Carter family. He was away at Harvard presently, soon to take his bar exam. He was going to take over the family business soon, much to the pleasure of his grandfather. John's first son. And he had turned out perfect. Sometimes they say that the first child is always the worst since you learn from any mistakes you make on him or her, but John had turned out perfect. Star athlete, honor-roll student, class president, Harvard graduate, plain perfect. He had always been a sincere, hardworking boy. Stubborn and a perfectionist. What a mix that was. John had tried to give him the best childhood possible. Baseball and football games, father-son outings, everything he never had as a child. But somehow they had begun to drift apart. He had different ideals now, how the world worked, and John couldn't him anymore. He had turned into everything John stood against. And he couldn't do anything. But he was his son, and loved him. He slightly opened the window at the farthest wall, letting fresh air in. He then turned, closing the door behind him.   
  
He walked farther, passing pictures and paintings of the family. Every family had their portrait painted, and now they just seemed like wicked people, frozen in time. Watching every move, every mistake. He reached the next room that he bothered to go into. Millie's room, Millicent Anne Carter, after his grandmother. He had been right in choosing her name, she was Gamma's twin. She had the same short, small figure, with the determination and attitude to match. She was outgoing and friendly, easy to get along with. She could sell ice to the penguins if she really wanted to. He walked around the room, taking notice to the little reminders she had left. Dried flowers from dances, pictures, papers, figurines, the desk packed with papers and books. He wondered if she was still as quick witted as she had always been. He hadn't heard from her in a few weeks, but he assumed the University in Paris was treating her well. She wanted to go study abroad, travel the world, live life to the fullest. He loved that about her. Her carefree attitude. She would be successful one day, of this he was sure. No matter what it took, she would get it done. He straightened out the bed, fixing the folds, and exited that little corner of his world.   
  
Fatigue overcame his body, but he kept on walking. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. He reached Robert's room. Robert "Bobby" Alexander Carter. They even shared the same room. He didn't know why he had suddenly chosen to name his second son Bobby. It had been just a reflex, a type of remembrance for him. A solace. An Carter had been three for three with the naming. Bobby shared everything from the adventurous attitude to the brown hair and green eyes with his late uncle. In a way, Bobby had always been the one John pushed the hardest. Bobby wasn't a genius, but he got by with A's and B's, and an occasional C. He had tried, but the educational gene had somehow skipped him he always joked. His room was actually quite bare now. He had left for college at Yale only a few weeks ago. He had to compete with John always. The normal brother-brother rivalry. Just like he had with Bobby when they were younger. Before the weight of everything fell on his shoulders. Before Bobby died. Every time he walked into the room, a chill ran over his body. He could feel Bobby in there. He had spent so much time in there before and after his death. His son had done little to transform the atmosphere, it still lurked of broken promises and defeat. And it would always be there, for as long as John was alive. He wrapped his robe closer around his body, and left the room, the chill running up and down his spine once again.   
  
He was slowly dragging his feet along the floor towards the stairs. Only a few more feet left. Or miles. It felt like that. He saw the usual light emitted from the last bedroom on the floor, the door slightly ajar. He entered it. There his youngest daughter slept. Their little "mistake". Or blessing. Abigail Elizabeth Carter. Abby. The room was painted in a light pink, the night light on the side casting eerie shadows upon the walls. The little body was curled up under a purple blanket, teddy bear in hand. She was six. They hadn't planned on having another child. It just sort of happened, no preparation. And she was his favorite. Daddy's little girl. She was shy and quiet. Weak and breakable. He had to take care of her. He loved her unconditionally. He wrapped the blanket around her tighter. She would rather spend time following him around the house than doing anything else. She was smart. She understood even the toughest things, and managed to help him out with problems before he even thought of approaching the subject. She planned to be a doctor. A feat which he knew wouldn't be hard for her. She had a tiny frame for her age, and she wouldn't be very tall. She held the same build as her sister, maybe slightly smaller. She had dark curly hair and piercing brown eyes. She looked like an angel sleeping there. He kissed her on the forehead and silently exited the room.   
  
He got down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. He turned the kettle on for tea, but it would probably turn into coffee. He sat down at the counter, putting his head into his arms, realizing that he had a headache. After a few minutes the kettle boiled, its whistle almost driving him over the edge. He stirred the tea into the steaming water, mixing in a spoon of sugar. With this latest accomplishment he sat back down. He watched the seconds tick by, taking a sudden comfort in the constant sound. After a while he felt hands upon his shoulders, delicately massaging his stress points. "Can't sleep?" He nodded his head 'no' in response to the question. "And you?" He waited for her to answer. But she didn't answer. "Annette?" His voice sounding slightly quieter than expected. "I'm going back to bed, John." He felt the quick kiss against his cheek. After he heard the last creak of the steps, he knew he was alone once again.   
  
He stirred the cup in a constant circle. Dipping the spoon in and out of the mixture, taking an occasional sip here and there. But mostly he was thinking. He had four beautiful children, a gorgeous wife, a successful practice, a gigantic mansion on 5 acres of private land. What else did he need? Her. He needed her. He never forgot her. He never forgave himself. He had left her, running after a feeling of guilt, running away from the truth. She had called to him, begged him to stay, and he didn't. He needed to get away from her, he told himself. But in reality, he was just running away from his true self. He needed time to think life through. But he never got to life. All he thought was about her. And when they had sent Luka home, he sent a note. A short note, it's not you, it's me. It really was him. He had problems he didn't want to admit. Problems that he still could never face.   
  
He thought about her every day, wishing he could have done something differently. Wishing that he could undo what he had done. Yet he stayed there for over 6 months. He didn't call. He didn't write. He just showed up one day. Back at work. He saw her standing behind the desk, white lab coat on, consulting with Susan on a patient. She had gone back to med school. She had changed. Maybe he still had a chance. That night he went to her apartment, wanting to explain, wanting to apologize. But he was only greeted with disdain and hatred. She didn't need him. She had moved on. The ring on her finger a sure sign. Luka. Somehow they had managed to get back together. He had proposed. A wedding date set. So he had no choice but to move on as well. He quit county shortly afterwards, opened a practice, met and married Annette. Filled out his life's obligations: family, children, the foundation. But there was always a piece missing. He always wondered about her. Was she still alive? Still married to Luka? Was she happy? Those silly little thoughts you get when uncertainty and pain rule your life.   
  
He reached for the phone, sitting on the shelf. He knew her number. He had known it for years. Yet he never had enough nerve to call. He knew he would go running back to her given the chance. He knew he wouldn't be able to survive knowing she was alone and dying. His fingers ran over the key pad, dialing the number by heart. He pressed the talk button. It was now or never. He needed to know. So many unanswered questions, so many sleepless nights. He just wanted to hear her voice one last time, to know that she was okay. That she was happy. He dialed the number, the tone of each number getting louder and longer. Finally the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. It was 2:39 in the morning. Why had he decided to call? He hung up. Some things were better left unanswered. 


End file.
